


Baby Can't You See

by WrongRemedy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Maylor meddles in Harlee's life because sometimes it just be like that, Old Married Couple, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 22:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: Chapter 1: In which Gwilym is entirely too distracted by Ben in the Rogerina costume, and Ben is very good at getting all of Gwil's attention.Chapter 2: In which Roger reminisces about his own "schoolgirl" days, and Brian shows him that he's still just as beautiful as he ever was.People who are only in the band or the movie fandom, feel free to read only the chapter that pertains to your preferred ship. People who are in both, enjoy both chapters!





	1. I've Fallen In Love

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written Harlee or Maylor before, but I’ve been in bandom for nearly fourteen years, so I’m definitely no stranger to band dynamics, and hopefully I captured these boys well enough.
> 
> Chapter 1 is primarily Harlee with some discussion of Maylor, and vice versa for chapter 2. Chapter 2 follows chapter 1 directly and the whole story is set during the filming of the movie. Both chapters have an explicit rating.
> 
> In this story, Ben and Gwil have been dating for a few months, whereas Brian and Roger have been a couple pretty much since they met, and have been married since it became legal in the UK.
> 
> Just a few disclaimers: I do not know anything about the filming order for the movie besides the fact that Live Aid was week one (thanks, Rami), so I have no idea when in the process these scenes were actually done.
> 
> This is a work of fiction written for fun, not for profit. I do not personally know any members of Queen or anybody who worked on the Bohemian Rhapsody film. If you or someone you know is mentioned in this story, now would be a great time to hit the backspace button.
> 
> Fic title as well as chapter titles taken from I Want to Break Free because, well, obviously.

“Cut!”

Gwilym hears the call and removes the strap of the Red Special from his shoulder, handing the guitar over to Pete with as much care as possible. He’s become a lot more comfortable with the instrument since the first time he held it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still concerned every second about the possibility of doing something to harm it, in which case he would absolutely die. Luckily, Dexter's continued shout cuts off that particular terrifying train of thought.

“That’s a wrap for today everybody, tomorrow we’ve got I Want to Break Free, so please make sure you’re all here early for costume and makeup.”

Gwilym closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose at the reminder. It’s not that he’s not looking forward to shooting the scenes for their own little remake of the I Want to Break Free video. He’s sure it’s going to be a hilarious day on set and that everyone’s going to have an amazing time. But the thought of spending a whole day in a long pink nightie, bunny slippers, and hair curlers isn’t exactly something he’s especially looking forward to. Firstly, it’s going to be cold, and secondly, he’s going to look like the world’s biggest berk. His only comfort is knowing that Joe’s granny getup is going to be even worse than Gwil’s own costume. Gwil sighs heavily, and startles when he feels a hand come down on his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” comes the unmistakable voice of Brian May from the direction of the aforementioned hand. “Just wanted a word before you cleared off for the day.”

Gwil looks up as Brian moves to stand in front of him, and is struck for the millionth time by how immensely similar they look with Gwil wearing the wig, and also by the fact that this is _Brian May,_ a living legend who not only knows who Gwil is but also now considers him a friend. He wonders if it’s ever going to not be surreal.

“Yeah, sure, of course!” he chirps, and cringes interally at his tone. He looks across the set to make sure the spot where Ben is stood chatting with Roger is far enough away for Ben not to have heard him and be able to tease him for how eager he sounds. He knows his boyfriend loves him, but he also never passes up an opportunity for a laugh when it comes to pointing out how starstruck Gwil gets around Brian. For Ben’s own part, and as evidenced by how they’re currently laughing together on the other side of the room, he took to hanging around with Roger as if they’d known each other their whole lives, of which Gwil is only a little bit envious.

“What’d you need?” Gwil asks, and feels his brow furrow when Brian glances around at the crew wandering around and pulls Gwil further away into a quieter corner before he speaks.

“Now, this might be a bit awkward,” Brian starts, and now it’s Gwil’s turn to look around at the other people assembled in the room, wondering what on earth Brian could have to say that would make him preface it that way. “But since you’ll be dragging up for the video recreation tomorrow I just thought I’d give you a word of warning.”

“I know to wear a robe so I don’t freeze to death in the nightie,” Gwil interrupts with a chuckle, “the wardrobe crew already warned me the bloody thing is ridiculously thin.”

Brian waves a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about that, I have a robe I was planning to bring you anyway, the one I wore when we filmed the original.”

Gwil opens his mouth to thank him for the gesture, but Brian cuts him off before he can speak.

“What I was going to say is…you’ve been with our young Ben for several months now, yes?”

Gwil nods slowly, not understanding where any of this is going.

“Right,” Brian says, “well, as I said, I apologize if this is awkward at all but…I just wanted to say, don’t spend so much time worrying about how absolutely idiotic you feel in your costume that you forget to prepare yourself for how Ben’s going to look in his. If he makes half as pretty a schoolgirl as Rog did – and I’m sure he will, he’s quite lovely, you’re a lucky man – well…”

Brian pauses, and Gwil is honestly not sure he’s taken a single breath since Brian started talking about Ben.

“Let’s just say the cold may not be the only reason the nightie poses a problem once you get a look at him. Take it from someone who knows.”

Brian finishes speaking and Gwil feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

“I, ah…I will definitely take that into consideration,” he stammers, barely able to look Brian in the eye, both because of the implication about Brian and Roger’s relationship and because he’s already starting to imagine what Ben will look like in the ‘Rogerina’ getup. God, how had he not thought about it before? He sneaks another glance over to where Ben is still talking to Roger across the room and feels his face heat up.

Brian clears his throat, pulling Gwil’s attention back to Brian’s amused expression. When Brian catches his eye, he leans in and lowers his voice even further.

“Oh and, you didn’t hear it from me, but if there’s any chance of sneaking the costume away from wardrobe…take it. Have a bit of fun.”

And with that, Brian leans away again, pulling himself back up to his full height and shooting Gwil and honest-to-God _wink_ before making his way off the set, leaving a dumbfounded Gwil staring after him until he’s startled once again by a hand settling on the small of his back and whirls around to find a grinning Ben staring back at him.

“Hey, what were you and Brian talking about? You look like he just propositioned you or something,” Ben asks with a smile and a wink.

Gwil shakes his head, muttering a rushed “nothing to worry about” before pressing a kiss to Ben’s cheek and excusing himself to his trailer to get out of costume.

♠ ♠ ♠

Gwil spends the rest of the evening trying (and failing) not to imagine what Ben is going to look like in his costume and shrugging off Ben’s questions about what’s wrong with him. When he and Ben make it to set the following day, Gwil can feel that he’s still acting strangely, but every time he tries to shake himself out of it he’s assaulted by yet another mental picture of Ben’s lips glossed pink or his legs encased in stockings under a short skirt and he finds himself distracted again. Ben, of course, seems to notice something off every time, but thankfully doesn’t call him on it.

When they get ready to split up, Ben looks possibly more excited than Gwil has ever seen him, while Gwil feels like he’s doing well not to look like he’s about to sick up. Ben pops up onto his toes to plant a quick kiss on Gwil’s lips and pulls away smiling.

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new woman,” Ben says with a wink, and Gwil just barely holds back a noise of utter distress.

“Can’t wait,” Gwil chokes out, and Ben shoots him one last grin before he heads towards his trailer.

Gwil makes his way to his own trailer in something of a daze, having a very firm mental conversation with himself about appropriate workplace behavior and poorly timed erections and how he’s in his thirties now and these types of things should absolutely not be happening to him. He continues the chastisement all the way through his makeup, hair, and costuming, clear up to the point where suddenly everyone who has been tasked with getting him ready to shoot this fake music video has seemingly disappeared, only to be replaced by Brian, holding a bright red dressing gown on a hanger.

“As I mentioned yesterday,” Brian says, handing the garment over to Gwil, who takes it as reverently as he always does when Brian turns up to just give him his own personal belongings. Gwil turns the robe around and sees Brian’s full name embroidered on the back – “BRIAN HAROLD MAY” stitched into the red fabric in white thread – and adamently does _not_ tear up even a little bit, because that would ruin the horribly ugly makeup they’ve put on him for the video.

He hangs the robe on the back of the dressing room door and hugs Brian in thanks, smiling genuinely for the first time that day when Brian pats his curlers and laughs fondly.

“These bloody things,” Brian says, shaking his head. “I don’t envy you having to wear all that. That shoot would have been unbearable had it not been for getting to watch Rog prance around in the schoolgirl kit.”

Gwil feels his blood run cold at Brian’s reminder of just what he’s about to walk into. Something of his panic must show on his face, because Brian laughs again and pats his shoulder sympathetically. Gwil winces, accepting his fate.

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?” he asks, affecting a gloomy tone but at the same time feeling a smile starting to twitch at the corners of his mouth at just how ridiculous this situation is.

“Completely and thoroughly,” Brian says solemnly, nodding, and Gwil’s laugh finally breaks. He takes a deep breath and steels himself before opening the door to make his way onto set.

“Alright,” he says determinedly, more to himself than to Brian. “Let’s get this over with.”

♠ ♠ ♠

It’s simultaneously worse and better than Gwil expected it to be, finally seeing Ben in the whole getup and having to film the video.

Worse, in that he spends the first several minutes after seeing Ben for the first time completely gobsmacked, basically unable to speak or even function, and the feeling creeps up on him again several times throughout the filming so that he finds himself somewhat paralyzed looking at Ben and marvelling at how stunning he looks in drag. Better, though, in that nearly everyone seems to be so preoccupied with how all of them look that nobody seems to find it particularly odd or noteworthy that Gwil is so fixated on Ben. Most people on set are highly attuned to either Rami or Ben today anyway, so at least he’s far from the only one.

He’s somehow the last member of the ‘band’ to arrive – probably because of his conversation with Brian setting him back a bit – and when he manages to tear his gaze away from Ben across the room and pick his jaw up off the floor, he fake-smiles his way through all the comments from cast and crew alike about his own look from bunny slippers on up. Once that has died down he manages to snag a minute with Ben before they have to take their places. Ben does a little twirl once Gwil is stood in front of him, pigtails and skirt hem flying up ever so before he comes to rest in a little pose, fluttering his fake eyelashes for effect.

“So, what do you think?” Ben asks, and laughs when Gwil just gives him another silent, stunned onceover instead of answering straight away. “That good, huh?” Ben asks cheekily, and Gwil has to swallow around the lump in his throat before he can respond.

“You’re gorgeous,” he finally gets out, barely above a whisper, and he’s not sure it’s what he actually intended to say since it doesn’t come even remotely close to expressing everything he’s feeling about how Ben looks right now, but Ben’s face lights up when he says it, so he takes it as a win anyway.

“Normally I’d say the same for you but…” Ben reaches out and pokes at one of his hair curlers, grinning. “I’m not sure even your rugged handsomeness can cut through all of this.”

“Rugged handsomeness?” Gwil echoes, laughing, and thankfully the tension he’d been terrified would make it impossible to do his job today is cut through as he’s reminded that as lovely (incredible, amazing, _edible_ ) as Ben looks right now, he’s still just Gwil’s ridiculous boyfriend who can always make him laugh.

“Shove off,” Ben retorts, eyes sparkling, and then places are being called and it’s time to get to work.

By some absolute miracle, Gwil makes it through the entire day without tenting his nightie, and even without too many unwholesome thoughts. Well, mostly. There is the moment where they film Ben at the sink, tapping his foot to the beat, and Gwil is meant to enter the room and pass him in order to get to the fridge. On the first take, Gwil makes it about two steps through the doorway before his eyes follow the line of Ben’s legs up from the floor to where they disappear beneath the skirt, and then his gaze gets stuck on Ben’s arse as he wiggles his hips, and Gwil nearly trips over his own feet before he ever makes it halfway across the set. There is also one occasion where Ben finds some reason or another to bend over and the tight white compression shorts he’s wearing under the skirt start to peek out, and all Gwil can think is how when paired with the rest of the outfit they almost look something like boyshort-cut panties. He ends up asking to take five for a water break at that point, but thankfully talks his dick into behaving for the rest of filming before any sort of situation can…arise.

Gwil breathes a sigh of relief when they wrap for the day, and starts to make a beeline for his dressing room so that he can finally be free of his horrendous outfit, but stops short on an impulse when his mind conjures up his conversations with Brian yet again. He’d managed to not embarrass himself all day while looking at Ben all dressed up, but maybe…

Making up his mind, Gwil strides back across the set as confidently as he can in the godforsaken nightie and grabs Ben’s arm just as he’s starting to walk off himself. Ben looks up at him curiously, all wide innocent eyes and soft lips, and all the longing that Gwil has been bottling up all day crashes through him all at once. He wants to kiss Ben so badly he aches with it, but he’s keenly aware not only of where they are, but also of how he himself is still dressed, so he resists.

“Go to my trailer,” he says urgently, staring into Ben’s eyes. “Keep the outfit, the hair, all of it. If anyone tries to tell you you can’t, you tell them to fuck off, got it? I’m going to get all this stuff off, and I want you there when I get back, looking just like this. Tell me you will.”

Ben, bless him, doesn’t hesitate for a second. He murmurs a low “yes sir,” biting gently at his glossy bottom lip, and the effort Gwil puts forth to not reach out and trace over that mouth with his thumb is nothing short of Herculean.

“Good boy,” comes his instinctual response, and his pulse pounds the way it always does when he sees Ben’s cheeks flush at those two simple words. Glancing around at how they’re angled and the way that the set has largely cleared off already, Gwil chances putting a hand under Ben’s chin to tilt his face up slightly. “See you soon,” he promises, holding Ben’s gaze. Ben swallows and nods, echoing the words in a whisper before he pulls away and heads in the direction of the trailers. Gwil exhales heavily to right himself and clear his head, then makes his way to hair and makeup, praying it won’t take too long for them to set him back to rights so he can get to Ben.

♠ ♠ ♠

Luckily, getting out of makeup and hair typically goes much more quickly than getting into it, so Gwil finds himself barely having wasted any time at all before he’s back in the simple black tshirt and jeans he wore to set that day, free of makeup and wigs and eager to find Ben and finish what he started.

When he makes it to his trailer, Ben is stood against the little kitchen counter space, fussing with his wig in the reflection of the microwave door. Gwil notes the shoes and hat from the costume laid in a pile next to the couch, but every other piece is still on Ben’s body, and he’s even gone to the trouble of pulling the one knee-high sock that was pushed down for the video up so that it rests, like the other, just below his knees. Gwil locks the door as Ben turns to face him, breaking out into a smile and twirling a piece of hair from the wig around his finger as Gwil moves towards him.

“There’s my man,” Ben says, taking in Gwil’s normal appearance. “Long time no see.”

Normally Gwil would laugh, come up with some sort of witty response, but at this point he truly can’t be bothered, so he doesn’t speak at all as he gathers Ben against him with one hand on his hip and one on his face and kisses him as thoroughly as he ever has. Ben melts into the kiss immediately, pressing closer to Gwil’s chest, clutching at Gwil’s shirt and moaning into his mouth like they’ve been making out for hours instead of just a few seconds. When the kiss breaks, Gwil bites Ben’s plump lower lip, teeth dragging through the sweet layer of clear gloss atop the bubblegum pink lipstick, and Ben lets out a needy little whine that goes straight to Gwil’s cock as he pulls away.

“Want you to fuck me, please,” Ben gasps out, and Gwil drops the hand at Ben’s face down to his side so that he can squeeze both of Ben’s hips through the fabric of the skirt. “Wanted it all day,” Ben continues, his own hands slipping under the hem of Gwil’s tshirt to find bare skin. “Longer, actually…since yesterday, since I first thought about you seeing me like this.”

“Me too,” Gwil tells him, voice nearly a growl. “That’s why I’ve been acting so bloody insane for the last twenty four hours. Couldn’t stop imagining how you’d look, all dolled up. Like a fucking wet dream, Ben, you have no idea.”

“Show me,” Ben says eagerly, pushing Gwil’s shirt up with a purpose now, trying to get it off him. “Show me what it does to you, the outfit, the makeup, all of it. C’mon, want it, please.”

Gwil steps back enough to take his shirt off, barely giving Ben time to run his hands appreciatively over Gwil’s stomach and chest before he’s pushing him backwards towards the couch.

“Lie down, get comfortable,” Gwil orders, releasing Ben again and eyeing him approvingly as he complies. While Ben arranges himself on his back and gazes up at him with flushed cheeks, Gwil toes off his shoes, then removes his socks. When his hands drop to undo his jeans, Ben’s eyes zero in on the movement and he licks his lips unconsciously in anticipation. Normally Gwil would pause then, drawing the moment out to tease Ben as much as he can. Instead, his eyes rake over the sweet spill of Ben’s body, his legs already slightly splayed open, the rise and fall of his chest under the shirt and tie, and he has the button and zip open on his trousers within a second, though he stops short of pushing them down and off and instead lets them hang open at his waist, too eager to get his hands on Ben to bother shucking them and not to mention turned on by the whole ‘semi-clothed sex’ concept they have going here.

Gwil makes his way to the couch and settles on top of Ben; his own legs on the couch between Ben’s spread thighs while he leans his not-inconsiderable height down into Ben’s body under him. Gwil’s hands settle on Ben’s wrists, pinning them above his head, and Ben arches his back to press their bodies together and hooks one stockinged leg around Gwil’s calf.

“Kiss me,” Ben breathes, and Gwil doesn’t make him ask twice. He kisses Ben with hunger and authority, tasting lip gloss and heat and _Ben_ , and moves one hand away from Ben's pinned wrists and down his side to settle on Ben's leg, below the hem of his skirt. Ben shifts, rubbing against him in invitation, and Gwil breaks their kiss and sets his lips against Ben's neck as he slides his palm up underneath the skirt, expecting to encounter the compression shorts he'd caught a glimpse of earlier, just a flash of white set against the black nylons and skirt. Instead, his hand finds nothing but thin nylon stretched over warm skin, and when he catches Ben's eye he must look as surprised as he feels, because Ben shoots him one of his most mischievous grins along with a wink.

“Where are-?” Gwil starts, as Ben rolls his hips up to try and force Gwil's hand up higher, between his legs.

“Shucked 'em when I got here. Bloody things had my cock trapped all day, and they weren't exactly all that much to look at,” Ben explains. He raises an eyebrow then, looking smug, and continues, “Thought I'd trade them out for something a little...prettier before you got here.”

Well. Gwil's certainly not planning to waste any time before figuring out what Ben means by that. He shifts down Ben's body so that his face is more level with Ben's stomach, using both hands to flip the hem of the skirt up and get a look. The stockings are dark, but still sheer enough to be seen through all the way up Ben's thighs and almost to the V of his hips. But below the nylons, a darker fabric covers him, and it takes Gwil's mind a second to process the fact that the other garment is a pair of black lace panties, tented with the bulge of Ben's cock but managing to restrain it along with the stockings.

“Fuck, Ben,” he groans, and Ben has barely gotten out an amused sounding “thought you'd like them” before Gwil is yanking the stockings down off his legs, taking the white socks along with them and discarding the whole mess on the floor so that he can grasp Ben's cock in one large hand through the knickers. Ben moans and thrusts his hips up into the contact, rubbing himself against Gwil's palm as he reaches towards his own collar. He catches Gwil's eye and his hands hover about his chest as he asks, “Can I- the tie, can I please loosen it?”

Gwil gives Ben's cock a pleasurable squeeze as a reward for thinking to ask, and grants permission as he continues to play with Ben through the lace.

“Loosen it up a bit but don't take it off,” he instructs, holding Ben's hips down against the couch with one hand while he strokes him through his knickers with the other. “You can undo your top two buttons as well if you like.”

Ben does as he's been told, pulling at the knot on the pink and yellow striped tie until it sits at his breastbone, then unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his neck and chest and breathing a sigh of relief and a soft “thank you, sir” at the feeling. The shape below the shirt indicates that Ben still has on the padded bra they put on him, but the shirt doesn't gap quite enough to reveal it, only to give Ben the illusion of cleavage that he doesn't normally have. His tie falls slightly askew and his wig is messy against the couch as he looks down the line of his body to watch Gwil with hooded eyes. He looks debauched already and Gwil wants nothing more than to ruin him even more.

“God,” Gwil breathes, voice low, dipping his head so that his lips are brushing against the bulge in Ben's panties and Ben can feel his hot breath through the lace. “You look fucking incredible.”

Ben tips his head back and moans out a “please” at the feeling of Gwil's mouth, and Gwil isn't sure even Ben knows what exactly he's begging for, but Gwil knows what he wants, so he hooks his fingers into the top of Ben's knickers and tugs down slightly, pausing until Ben looks down at him again and he can ask, “alright, love?”

“Yes, yes,” Ben says, nodding almost frantically. “Take them off me, please, sir.”

The title isn't a requirement and Ben knows it, but Gwil can't say he's ever upset when it slips out. It means Ben is keyed up beyond his usual, aching for him in a way that ignites an answering fire inside Gwil. Gwil shushes him as he slides the fabric down, freeing Ben's dick from the confines of the lace and pulling until he's gotten them completely off and tossed aside along with the stockings from earlier.

Kissing his way back up Ben's thighs and reveling in the way that Ben spreads his legs open as wide as the position will allow, Gwil unexpectedly catches sight of slick and tastes the artificial tang of lube on his tongue. Getting one hand tucked under Ben's body at the small of his back, Gwil lifts him so that he can part Ben's cheeks with the other hand and confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, Ben's hole is shiny and wet from lube, relaxed and slightly open from what must have been a very recent fingering. Gwil looks up at Ben from between his legs, eyes dark and expression incredulous, and finds Ben already staring down at him, waiting for his reaction with bated breath. When Gwil doesn't speak right away, Ben's voice comes out on a rasp.

“Thought I'd take advantage of the wait time,” Ben explains, and Gwil has honestly never been so in awe of any person in his entire life, at least until Ben speaks again and sets a new record for blowing Gwil's mind. “Wanted to be wet for you,” Ben says, and Gwil feels like he's been punched in the gut with arousal. “Wanted you to be able to just...slide right in...take what you wanted. Just have me.”

Gwil surges up so he's blanketed over Ben yet again, kissing him with a bruising intensity that still doesn't fully convey just how much he wants him. One of Gwil's hands gets lost in the soft fall of Ben's long wig while the other reaches down to work ineffectively at the front of his own undone trousers, trying and failing to get them shoved down far enough to free his dick.

“Mm,” he hums against Ben's mouth, not quite ready to leave off there yet. “Give me a hand, gorgeous?”

“Yessir,” Ben whispers, the word slurring against Gwil's lips as his hands move to Gwil's waist to push his jeans down a little. He gets one hand down the front of Gwil's boxer briefs, making Gwil break off their kiss and mutter a string of strained curses into Ben's neck when he feels Ben's hand wrap around his cock to pull it out. Once he's freed, Ben only strokes him a couple of times before Gwil has to shoot a hand down and pull Ben's own away for fear of finishing before he ever gets to fuck him.

“Lube? Gwil asks breathlessly, knowing that Ben must have some somewhere close, since he apparently _fingered himself open in Gwil's trailer_ , for fuck sake. Ben flings a hand out towards the pile of clothing he'd already taken off before Gwil even got back, voice shaking when he says, “Under the hat.”

Gwil reaches down to move the hat and finds the compression shorts he'd been missing earlier folded up neatly on top of Ben's shoes, and a small bottle of lube and a condom laid on top of the shorts. He snatches them up and sits up on his knees between Ben's legs, not wasting any time in tearing the packet open, rolling the condom onto himself, and squeezing out a bit of lube onto his palm.

“D'you need-?” he asks, hand moving towards Ben's entrance in question, and Ben shakes his head no, reaching for one of the small pillows below his head and placing it under his hips instead. Ben's cock is still hard and laying against the underside of the upturned skirt, obscene, while the pillow has him presented to Gwil like every fantasy he's ever had come true.

“No,” Ben says in answer to Gwil's unfinished question. “Wanna feel you stretching me, please, sir.”

“God,” Gwil says, overwhelmingly aroused, slicking the extra lube onto the condom and guiding himself to Ben's entrance, rubbing the tip over his hole just to give them both time to feel it. “You look ruined already, all laid out, rumpled and begging.”

Ben moans and his eyes fall closed as he shifts to rub himself against Gwil's dick, begging without words for him to just get on with it already. Gwil teases him more just because of how badly he wants it, licks his lips and lowers his voice to its gruffest tone, the one he knows drives Ben absolutely crazy. “You look like such a fuckin' slut,” he tells him, pushing in just an inch and holding there, watching Ben's lips part on a gasp of pleasure at both the words and the slight stretch. “Yeah,” he breathes as he sinks in a little further, unable to keep the slight smirk from his face at how much he's affecting Ben. “My little whore, begging for me to lift your skirt and fuck you. Thinking about it all day, even preparing for it. Naughty girl.”

Ben gasps again and whines, nails digging into Gwil's back as he bottoms out, no doubt leaving marks, but Gwil doesn't mind. He loves being an anchor for Ben when he's so far gone like this. When he's fully seated he stops teasing, only holding still for a fraction of a second before beginning to thrust, setting a steady pace that he knows will get them both to the edge soon enough.

“Look at me,” Gwil commands, tugging on Ben's tie to get his attention, and Gwil notes how the carefully applied makeup is starting to soften and smudge around Ben's eyes to match the already-ruined lipstick as Ben flutters his eyes open for him. “You look so fucking wrecked like this,” Gwil tells him. “Taking my cock like you were made for it, letting me mess you all up however I want. So much for the sweet, innocent schoolgirl, eh?” Gwil laughs, pounding into Ben and marveling as much as ever at how fucking good it feels to be buried inside him. “Tell me what you are,” Gwil encourages, reaching down to grasp Ben's cock in one hand; not stroking, but holding, waiting for Ben to comply before he's rewarded.

“I'm a slut,” Ben murmurs in response, voice low and cheeks blazing more pink than the makeup blush. Gwil hears him perfectly well but tuts nonetheless, tightening his grip on Ben's cock to the verge of uncomfortable as he continues to rock into him, swallowing up the groan Ben lets out at the feeling as he kisses him again.

“Didn't catch that,” Gwil says, smirking again, and Ben's voice is clearer, more sure the next time around when he looks Gwil in the eye and says, “I'm a whore...fuck, I'm _your_ whore.”

Gwil rewards him by starting a slow pattern of strokes over Ben's cock, not fast enough to get him there but fast enough to encourage him. “Keep going,” he whispers, leaning down to nose the white uniform shirt out of the way and suck a mark into the exposed skin of one of Ben's collarbones. “Almost good enough...”

Ben's fingers dig harder into Gwil's skin, raking down his back as he tries to fuck into Gwil's grip and roll his hips into Gwil's thrusts all at once. His voice is thready and has climbed up an octave with his desperation when he speaks again, almost rambling in his need.

“Fuck, I- I'm your slut, I'd do anything for you. I love feeling you inside me, love the way you fuck me. I need your cock, need you filling me up, want you to wreck me, don't want anyone or anything else, ever.” Ben takes a deep, shuddering breath, shutting his eyes tight for a few seconds as Gwil speeds his hand on Ben's cock, matching the pace to his hard thrusts into Ben's body. Ben's eyes open again and he locks gazes with Gwil as he says, “Wanna be a good girl for you.”

Pleasure races all through Gwil's body at that, and he growls as he somehow manages to fuck Ben even harder, doing his level best to take them both to the edge and shove them over it, damn any more waiting.

“You are a good girl,” he tells Ben, meaning it with every fiber of his being. “Such a perfect fucking slut for me, planning all this out, doing everything I ask. Couldn't ask for better, love.”

“Can I cum, sir, please?” Ben begs, practically sobbing. Gwil doesn't even pretend to think about it, just nods and continues their race towards release.

“Whenever you want,” Gwil says out loud, making sure Ben knows he has permission. “I'm almost there. Want to see you cum all over your pretty little skirt, Ben, see how filthy my girl can be.”

The words are meant to push Ben over the edge and they work, but Gwil can't hold out himself either after that. He spills into the condom just seconds before he feels Ben twitch in his hand and sees his cum splashing across the upturned skirt, some even making it up to the loose tie still hanging down his chest.

Ben looks as positively drained as Gwil feels, costume entirely ruined and body slumping heavily against the couch as all the energy sags out of him post-orgasm. Gwil holds onto the base of the condom as he pulls out, wincing in slight over-sensitivity and glad that the small trashcan in the trailer is close enough that he can toss it into the bin without having to move too far. When he's hauled himself up off the couch and tucked his spent cock back into his trousers, he turns his attention back to Ben, who is watching him with a blissed out smile on his face and sleepy eyes, seemingly unconcerned about how his softening cock is still entirely exposed.

“You'll have to put that away, you know,” Gwil notes, amusement coloring his tone. Ben just grins wider, stretching his arms above his head until his back arches entirely up off the couch. He groans and then settles back down, looking for all the world like he never plans to move ever again.

“Is that so?” he asks, cheeky, and Gwil rolls his eyes before reaching down to pick up all of Ben's discarded clothes and toss them at his bare legs.

“Yes, that's so,” Gwil says firmly. “I'm guessing you didn't bother to bring your regular clothes with you, and we're certainly not walking to your trailer with your bits exposed to Queen and country.”

“Good choice of words,” Ben says, laughing, and Gwil shakes his head fondly while he sets about finding his own t-shirt and getting his socks and shoes back on, watching Ben from his periphery as he gets himself as close to back in order as he can.

“So, how are you feeling?” Gwil asks once Ben is something resembling presentable once again. This wasn't exactly what Gwil would call a scene, but it was a little past their normal sex, so a debrief doesn't feel out of place. Luckily, Ben hums thoughtfully, knowing exactly what Gwil is asking.

“Great. I loved it,” he says, and Gwil nods, reaching out to pull Ben against him and just hold him close, as he likes to do whenever he has the chance. Ben relaxes against him, popping up on his toes to press a quick kiss to Gwil's jaw, and then another on his lips. “How about you?”

“Fucking wonderful,” Gwil says truthfully, something in him softening and warming at Ben's smile. “Thank you for that.”

“Guess I'll have to tell Rog he was right about how you'd react to the outfit,” Ben laughs, and Gwil freezes on the spot, the gears in his brain coming to a grinding halt.

“You...you spoke to Roger about this?” he asks, and Ben looks suddenly worried.

“Well it was more like _he_ spoke to _me_ about it,” Ben says cautiously, leaning back against Gwil's arms around him and eyeing him like he's a bomb that might go off at any second. “He just, I dunno. You remember yesterday on set when Brian came over to talk to you? Rog pulled me aside at the same time and mentioned that when they filmed their video, Brian was, uh. _Very_ interested in the costume, and of course Rog was having the time of his life in it anyway, and, well. All he really said was that if you reacted half as well to seeing it as Brian did, that maybe I'd want to be prepared, so I brought the stuff with me to set just sort of hoping that something might happen, and clearly it worked out.” Ben pauses for a moment, reaching up to lay a hand on Gwil's chest and another on his face, tracing a thumb gently across Gwil's cheekbone. “You're not upset, are you?” Ben asks, and Gwil shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh starting to bubble up inside him now that he's processed everything Ben said.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he assures, turning his head slightly to kiss Ben's palm. “I think...” he says, chuckling a little, “I think we may have been set up a little bit here.”

Ben's brow furrows. “What d'you mean?” he asks. “I know I said Rog and I talked about it, but trust me, I made the decision to do this on my own. I would have wanted it even if he hadn't said anything to me.”

“I know,” Gwil says, laughing again at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Alright, might as well just say it. When Brian spoke to me yesterday, it was to say essentially the exact same thing.”

Ben's mouth drops open, shock and amusement mixing on his face, and then they're both laughing.

“No way,” Ben says through his giggles. “You're telling me they both...”

Gwil nods. “Apparently so,” he says, and Ben's incredulous laugh echos through the trailer, bright and clear.

“Those old codgers,” Ben says, and Gwil has to bury his face in Ben's neck to stifle his own laugh. “I can't believe them. Living vicariously through us like that.”

Gwil lifts his head and looks Ben in the eye, affecting a solemn tone. “I'm telling them you called them that,” Gwil says seriously, earning him a smack on the arm from Ben.

“Shove off, you wouldn't. You'd be too worried about hurting Brian's feelings.”

Gwil scowls a little but doesn't argue the point because, well, he's right. Instead, he takes Ben by the hand and tugs him towards the trailer door.

“C'mon, let's go get you into a normal outfit so that we can get out of here,” he encourages, and Ben trails along behind him happily as they duck out of the trailer and onto the lot. They're about three quarters of the way to Ben's own trailer when they're stopped by an all-too-recognizable voice behind them calling out an amused, “Well, well, look what we have here.”

Face already heating up before he even gets all the way around, Gwil turns to see Roger standing a few feet away, arms crossed in front of him and a delighted smile on his face that makes him look exactly like his younger self, regardless of the changes of age.

“Found them, Bri,” Roger calls off to the side, and a few seconds later Brian emerges from behind another trailer, taking in the sight of Gwil in his street clothes and Ben fidgeting next to him in a disheveled version of the Rogerina getup. There's a smirk turning up at the corners of Brian's mouth as he steps close to Roger, wrapping his arm around him and pulling Roger close, as everyone has seen them do a million times over the past forty-some-odd years. Despite his embarrassment, Gwil feels a wave of affection for both of them, seeing them standing there like that. He hopes, not for the first time, that he and Ben might be able to make their love work for as long as Brian and Roger have.

“Evening, boys,” Brian says cheerfully, and Gwil feels Ben shift closer to him, almost like he can hide even though they've clearly already seen what he's still wearing. Gwil tucks Ben against his side in much the same way that Brian has Roger tucked against his, and they both give little waves in the direction of the other couple, not knowing what to say.

“We won't keep you,” Roger assures, arms tightening around Brian's middle. “Just wanted to let you know it might be a couple of weeks before we can be back on set again. Didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, you know.”

“Makes sense,” Ben says, voice a little hoarse, but when Gwil looks down at him he's starting to smile a bit, making knowing eye contact with Roger. Gwil looks up to find Brian giving him the same look.

“You're welcome to keep the dressing gown for the rest of the shoot if you like,” Brian tells him, and Gwil nods, watching Brian wave off his quiet “thank you,” with a dismissive hand.

“Well,” Gwil says, feeling the need to bring the situation to a close, mostly because the longer they stand there, the higher the chances are that someone else will come along and see them like this, and wonder why in the world Ben is still in costume. “If you don't mind, I think we'd better, uh.” He gestures towards Ben's trailer door, and Brian and Roger nod in understanding.

“Oh, yes, by all means,” Roger says, waving a hand. “I know how cold your legs can get in those nylons,” he says with a wink, and Gwil looks down in time to see Ben flush prettily as he shoots Roger a grin.

“See you all in a few weeks,” Ben says, and Roger and Brian smile fondly at him.

“Text us before then if you'd like,” Brian says, both Gwil and Ben nodding in response. Gwil knows that Ben texts Roger nearly every day regardless, and maybe he'll start reaching out to Brian more now that he clearly has not just permission, but encouragement.

“Will do,” Gwil says, and with that he turns and guides Ben the rest of the way to his trailer, ushering him inside before Gwil himself goes in, so that he and his costume are out of sight if anyone else should show up.

When Gwil is mostly inside the trailer but hasn't gotten the door pulled all the way shut behind him yet, he hears Roger's voice float across the space between the trailers and through the cracked door and pauses to listen, unsure what prompts him to eavesdrop but unable to really feel guilty about it.

“Well, it looks like they had fun,” Roger comments, and there's a pause wherein Gwil is fairly certain he hears a hum from Brian and something of a soft groan from Roger.

“What's say you and I go home and have a bit of our own fun, hm?” Brian's voice says, and Gwil decides that's quite enough listening in. The door to the trailer shuts firmly behind him, and he doesn't manage to hear Brian and Roger's laughs through it as he goes to find Ben and see if he needs help finally getting out of his costume.


	2. Life Still Goes On

Despite his apparent eagerness as they prepared to leave the film set, Roger is quiet through the entire car ride home, staring out the passenger side window in silence while Brian drives them out of the city and down all the country lanes that eventually bring them to their large but secluded estate. It’s a marked change from how animated he’d been just before they left and all throughout the day; joking around with Gwilym and Ben, poking a bit of fun at them for clearly having recreated more than just the music video thanks to Brian and Roger’s advice.

Brian attempts to rouse him out of whatever stupor he’s fallen into, reaching over to place a hand on Roger’s thigh when the road opens up a little and he feels comfortable driving with only one hand. Roger turns his head in Brian’s direction, acknowledging the attention by dropping his own hand down to rest on top of Brian’s briefly, but he still looks unfocused somehow. Brian tries not to let his concern show as he squeezes Roger’s leg gently.

“It really is remarkable, the ‘life imitates art imitates life’ of it all, eh, Rog?” he asks with somewhat of a forced laugh, which withers when he sees the half-hearted smile Roger gives him in return. Brian’s brow furrows, but before he can ask what’s wrong, Roger turns away to look out the window again, and Brian feels awkward enough to put both hands on the steering wheel and remain silent for the rest of the drive, hoping that by the time they get home, Roger will have worked out whatever has him acting so distant.

♠ ♠ ♠

Roger is still quiet when they get home, Brian missing the usual chatter that he's long become accustomed to from his husband as they remove their coats and shoes in the entryway. As they move further into the house, Brian begins to head towards the kitchen, unsure of what else to do. Gesturing towards the room with a hand and turning to Roger, he asks, “Love? I think I may pour myself a drink, would you like something?”

Roger gazes in the direction of Brian's pointing for a silent moment, expression unreadable, and Brian feels the worry spool up inside him yet again. Finally, Roger shakes his head and takes a few steps towards the stairs.

“Nah,” he says, likely aiming for casual but not quite managing it. “Think I'll just...go lie down for a bit.”

To anyone else, the tone combined with the words would lead them to believe that Roger is simply tired, but Brian has had the better part of a lifetime to learn the difference in Roger's moods, so he picks up on the sadness there and can't stop himself from asking the question that's been on the tip of his tongue since he first noticed Roger's silence in the car.

“Darling, what's wrong?” he asks softly, and Roger's sigh nearly breaks Brian's heart.

“It's nothing,” Roger tries to deflect, leaning on the banister and not quite meeting Brian's eyes.

“Clearly it's not, Rog,” Brian hedges, careful to sound more concerned than accusatory so as not to scare Roger away or upset him further. “You were having a great time on set. What happened?”

Roger sighs again, heavier, looking almost as if he's about to cry. Brian takes a chance and steps up close to him, opening his arms so that Roger has the option of seeking physical comfort but not yet touching him in case Roger doesn't want that at the moment. To Brian's great relief, Roger takes the invitation and wraps his arms around Brian's waist, hiding his face against Brian's chest while Brian's hands settle on Roger's back, holding him. After a moment, Roger speaks, voice somewhat muffled into Brian's shirt but still audible.

“Seeing Ben in the costume...” Roger starts, then shakes his head, still pressed against Brian. Brian brings one hand up to scratch gently at the back of Roger's head, petting at his hair, silently encouraging him to finish the thought. Roger tips his head back into the caress and lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up at Brian as he continues. “It's silly but...he looked stunning, you know, and it reminded me how long ago it was that I looked anything like that. Just got me thinking how much I miss being... _pretty_. Stupid, eh?”

Roger's laughter is one of Brian's favorite sounds, but when he hears it now it comes out far too hollow, filled with self-deprecation. Brian frowns and puts a hand under Roger's chin, making sure he can't break their eye contact.

“It's only stupid if you truly believe you _aren't_ still pretty,” Brian says, gripping Roger's chin a little harder when he tries to squirm and look away. “None of that now, look at me,” Brian chides, gratified when the words have Roger holding obediently still. “Roger, love. Surely you have to know how beautiful you are. I tell you every day, don't I?”

Roger rolls his eyes and huffs as if Brian has just said something supremely stupid.

“Well you would think that,” he argues, pulling his face from Brian's grip, stubbornness setting in. “You've only been in love with me for the last fifty years. I could contract leprosy and lose all my teeth and you'd probably still look at me with those googly eyes of yours.”

“Right then, so what's the problem?” Brian asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

“The problem is that you're biased!” Roger cries, waving his arms around so effusively that he nearly smacks Brian in the face. “You thinking I look good doesn't make it true, and seeing Ben all young and dolled up today drove the point home.”

A plan forms in Brian's mind immediately, and he knows Roger well enough to know that it's likely exactly what he needs to shake him out of this.

“Alright,” Brian says determinedly, nodding his head, heedless of Roger's look of confusion at the word. “I see I have no choice here.”

Roger's “what're you on about?” is barely out of his mouth before Brian has spun him around and started pushing him in the direction of the living room, following closely on Roger's heels as he guides them through the house. “Brian, what-” Roger tries again, and Brian stops them momentarily to lean down and bite at the junction of Roger's neck and shoulder, cutting off his question and replacing it with a sharp inhale.

“Keep walking, no more questions,” Brian murmurs, lips brushing Roger's ear, and the way Roger shudders against him before continuing forward leaves no doubt in his mind that he's made the right decision on how to deal with this unexpected bout of self-consciousness on Roger's part.

Once in the living room, Brian brings them both to a stop standing next to the couch, moving around to stand in front of Roger yet again, hands going to the top button of Roger's white dress shirt.

“Alright, love?” Brian asks before doing anything else, not reading any discomfort in Roger's body language but wanting to check in on his emotional state anyway before just unceremoniously disrobing him. Luckily, Roger nods without hesitation, and voices his permission with sincerity.

“It's good, yeah,” he says, his rough voice already dipping lower, going just a bit more gruff even than usual. A good sign that he's headed in the direction that Brian very much wants them to go.

Brian leans in to place a kiss on Roger's pliant mouth as he works his hands steadily down the front of Roger's shirt, quickly undoing his buttons one by one and then pushing the garment down and off Roger's body to fall to the floor. He reaches for Roger's belt next, undoing it as well as his trousers, only pulling away from Roger's mouth to shove at the material and push it down until it sits low on Roger's hips. Roger gently bats his hands away, taking over to finish ridding himself of both trousers and underwear until he's stood there in their living room, naked as the day he was born and still, in Brian's eyes, just as radiant as he's always been.

Roger's breathing is a little shallow and the longer he stands there, the more he begins to blush from his cheeks all the way down to his chest; but he doesn't move, doesn't cover himself or shift under Brian's gaze, too many endless, wonderful years of trust between them for him to suddenly begin hiding himself away now, even despite his earlier misgivings. His cock is half-hard, either from Brian's bite in the hallway, the timber of his voice, his current observations, or perhaps a mixture of all three. Brian reaches out and smooths both his palms down Roger's chest, from his shoulders all the way down his front, until his hands settle at Roger's hips, his thumbs rubbing up and down the soft skin there until Roger presses forward into the motion, a barely-audible noise caught in his throat.

“Are you going to let me touch you, Rog? Let me show you how beautiful you are?”

The question has Roger's eyes darkening, his throat bobbing as he swallows heavily against both lust and emotion. “Yes,” he whispers, nothing but trust and love in his eyes despite the softness of his voice. Brian rewards him for it with another kiss, reeling him in close until their bodies press together, Roger's bare skin against Brian's fully clothed form. Roger doesn't seem to mind, content to stay close against Brian despite the shirt and trousers, though one of his hands does find it's way onto Brian's chest, right where his perpetually-undone buttons leave his sternum bare. Brian hums when he feels Roger's touch, and he breaks their kiss to look down at Roger's hand on his chest, covering it with his own before lifting it to his mouth and laying a few light kisses along Roger's knuckles. He places the last kiss right over Roger's wedding band, and, miracle of miracles, Roger smiles genuinely for the first time since they got in the car.

“You're an old sap, Brian May,” Roger says playfully, his eyes finally regaining their usual shine. Brian beams at him, not even attempting to deny it as he moves to sit himself down right in the center of the couch, tugging at Roger's hand as he goes. Roger follows dutifully, straddling Brian's lap, and Brian immediately brings the hand not currently interlaced with Roger's down to Roger's lap to tease lightly over his shaft. His long fingers form a loose ring around Roger's length, giving him enough friction that he starts to firm up even more, but not so much as to be uncomfortable given the lack of lubrication. Once Roger gets going there will be enough slick to keep things going, but he's not quite there yet, so Brian accommodates.

“Not wasting any time, are you?” Roger laughs breathlessly, eyes closing at the first touch of Brian's hand. Brian leans forward and laves his tongue over the same spot on Roger's neck that he bit earlier, amusement coloring his own voice in response to Roger's question.

“This position can't be anything other than hell on your knees if I keep you here for too terribly long,” Brian responds, ever the reasonable one. He bites at Roger again, a little further along his shoulder from before, his hand speeding a bit as Roger starts to drip, making the slide smoother for both of them. “You've always looked so fucking pretty in my lap, Rog,” he continues, nosing along Roger's neck and laying a kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. “You know how much I've always loved having you like this. I could watch you on top of me for days. I have, if you count up all the hours I've spent with you just like this over the years, so fucking gorgeous for me I could eat you up.”

Roger's breath hitches rhythmically as Brian speaks, his hips twitching upwards into Brian's grip while his head lolls back and to the side to give Brian's mouth more room to explore.

“Bri, please,” he whines, and Brian shushes him as his mouth skims along Roger's throat, moving to the other side of his neck so he can repeat the same actions. He's always been a fan of symmetry, after all.

“I want you to do something for me,” Brian murmurs, voice pitched low, persuasive and authoritative all at once in a way he's perfected over the years. He's thankful for approximately the trillionth time in his life that he and Roger turned out to be so incredibly compatible in that way, especially as Roger lets out a quiet, questioning “mm?”, ready as ever to receive instruction, in this setting if nowhere else.

“Tell me what you remember about that schoolgirl outfit, about how you felt wearing it,” Brian says, and though Roger shakes his head minutely and makes a small sound down in his throat, he doesn't voice an objection, so Brian continues. “I can go first, if you like. I remember what a knockout you were. That skirt fitted around your waist, those sheers disappearing under your hemline. Couldn't stop looking at you, sweetheart. Wanted you so fucking badly that day I thought I'd bloody well die from it.” Still stroking Roger with one hand, Brian untangles the other from Roger's to settle at his hip, shifting him forward on his lap so that he's sitting more squarely on top of Brian's own growing erection. Roger gasps when he feels it, and Brian sits back enough to look into Roger's eyes. “But oh, you didn't let me suffer, did you, love?” he asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Roger shakes his head again, firmer, and Brian chuckles. “No, that's right...instead you nicked the costume off set and brought it home with you. Bent right over the desk in the study...shook that pretty little arse of yours and flashed those gorgeous eyes back at me over your shoulder until I took you apart.” Brian's free hand moves from Roger's hip to cup the ass in question, and Brian's voice comes out on a growl as he says, “Still want to take you apart.”

Something about the combination of actions and words must get to him because Roger gives in then, words spilling out from him like he can't get them said quickly enough.

“Felt like everybody's eyes were on me all day,” Roger starts, and Brian gives his cock a squeeze to encourage him to continue. “Fuck, Brian,” he says, voice broken, “everybody in the whole place was looking at me, I felt beautiful, felt even more confident than usual. Which was saying something back then, I was an arrogant little twat.”

Brian gives him a quick swat on the backside for that comment, and Roger startles, tripping out a half-laughing, “sorry, sorry, I take it back,” that earns him a quick kiss for reward.

“Go on,” Brian encourages, and Roger nods as he complies.

“Just felt _more_ than my usual self. Like I could do anything. Got into such a mindset...this flirty girl who knew exactly what all the boys wanted from her...fuck.” Roger reaches out then, gets a hand on Brian's face and traces a thumb over Brian's lips that Brian presses a kiss to as he goes. “All those eyes on me and I only wanted you,” Roger says, voice softer, and Brian's heart gives a thump so heavy he's sure it must have been audible. “Wanted to hear you telling me I looked good, telling me I was pretty, telling me to be a good boy...hell, to be a good _girl_ for you.”

“I did, didn't I?” Brian asks, leaning into Roger's touch on his face, turning to lay another kiss on the center of his palm. Roger arches against him and drives his cock through the circle of Brian's fist, nodding almost frantically.

“You did, you did, Brimi,” he affirms, and Brian can't help the smile at the old nickname. That one comes out rarely, and only ever when they're alone. It usually means Roger is overwhelmed in a good way, or that he's feeling particularly nostalgic or loving. Brian is glad to hear it now.

“Roger, listen to me,” he murmurs, feeling Roger's hand shift to tangle in Brian's hair as he thrusts more vigorously into Brian's hand. “You are as breathtaking today as you were then. As you were the first day I ever met you. Sometimes I look at you and you stun me so thoroughly I can't even think. You are, without doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever, ever known, and I won't have you doubting it for one second, do you hear me?”

Roger's “yes, yes, _Brian_ ” is so vehement it could almost be categorized as a sob, and he curls forward to bury his face against Brian's shoulder as he cums over Brian's fist with a keening sound.

Brian soothes him through it with a hand smoothing up and down his back, holding him close and letting him ride it out, managing to catch nearly all of Roger's spend on his hand so as not to ruin his clothes. Normally he wouldn't give a toss, but he's rather fond of the particular black button-down and black trousers he's got on today, and so he makes sure to do whatever he can to keep them clean. For a moment he considers reaching for the tissue box on their side table and ridding himself of the mess that way, but instead finds himself using his clean hand to tip Roger back into a more seated position so that he can bring the other to Roger's mouth, a questioning quirk of his brow all Roger needs to know what he's asking.

Roger licks over Brian's hand like he's never been more content doing anything else, and keeps licking until there's no trace left of Roger's cum on Brian's skin. He then catches Brian's eyes and gives him the same deceivingly innocent look he's been aiming Brian's way since he was nineteen, his mouth sinking down over two of Brian's fingers at once, eyes falling shut as he sucks. Brian's cock twitches in his trousers, his own need having been set aside in favor of getting Roger off, of making Roger understand how he never stopped being lovely at any age. The heat of Roger's mouth and the blissful expression on his face from sucking on Brian's fingers brings Brian's desire back into focus, and his hips buck up underneath Roger almost involuntarily, grinding his bulge against Roger's thigh until Roger peeks an eye open and pulls his lips from Brian's hand with a lick to his lips.

“Bri...can I?” Roger asks, a hint of a whine threaded under his soft, deep voice.

Brian resists the urge to be pedantic and answer “yes, you _may_ ” just to rib Roger for his grammar, choosing instead to simply push at Roger a bit until he gets the message and shifts himself off Brian's lap to settle on the floor at Brian's feet. Brian widens the sprawl of his legs so that there's room for Roger to shuffle forward between his thighs, then reaches down to the button on his trousers, stopping before he gets it undone as he watches Roger's eyes track the movement.

“Okay if I do this, or would you rather have the honors?” Brian asks, and Roger's eyes snap back to Brian's face as if he's been caught doing something naughty.

“Ah, I'll leave it to you, I think,” Roger says, a faint blush rising on his cheeks again even as he shoots Brian a mischievous grin, tongue just barely peeking out between his teeth. “Gives me a chance to watch your hands,” he finishes, and Brian doesn't bother to fight the smirk he knows is on his face at Roger's words. It's not as though Brian's ever been unconscious of the way people (and Roger especially) react to his hands, but it's still nice to hear even after so many years of it.

“Alright then,” Brian murmurs, voice indulgent, as if he's doing Roger a favor. He supposes that to Roger, it may well feel like he is.

Seeing Roger's gaze drop back to his lap, Brian pops the button on his trousers and pulls the zip down carefully. Not slowly (it's in the back of his mind to worry again about the state of Roger's knees if he stays in his current position for too long), but with enough care to make sure Roger gets a bit of a show. Brian plants his feet more firmly on the floor and raises his hips up just enough that pushing the front of his trousers and underwear is easier, finally freeing his cock and groaning a bit at the sensation of freedom after so much restriction. He's still essentially entirely clothed; his shirt is as unbuttoned down his chest as usual and now his erection is bared as well, but other than that he's still covered and in complete contrast to Roger kneeling naked on the floor before him. It's a position they've been in countless times before, but it never fails to shoot a thrill up Brian's spine. And if the way Roger's eyes darken as he takes in the sight before him is any indication, he still feels the same way as well. After a beat of silence and letting Roger look his fill, Brian speaks.

“Go ahead, love, if you're ready,” he says gently, one hand at the base of his dick and the other running through Roger's hair. Brian huffs a laugh when Roger groans an emphatic “ _finally_ ” before leaning forward and taking Brian into his mouth, Brian's laugh turning into a moan as Roger sucks at the head and looks up at Brian from under his eyelashes.

“Beautiful, Rog,” Brian says, fingers curling deeper into Roger's hair. Roger's eyes fall shut at the praise and he takes Brian further into his mouth, going down to the root and then pulling back up to set a steady rhythm.

Brian doesn't hold back his gasps or moans as Roger works him over. He wants Roger to hear him, to know how effectively he can still take Brian apart after all this time. Each time it starts to feel especially good - spikes of pleasure peaking whenever Roger does something particularly wicked with his tongue – Brian's hand tightens in Roger's hair and Roger hums against him, creating a feedback loop that Brian never, ever wants to break. Soon enough, though, Brian feels himself approaching the edge, and he places his free hand on Roger's face, thumb tracing delicately from the corner of Roger's stretched lips to the hollowed out cheekbone. Roger's bright blue eyes flutter open at the touch, and the sight of him nearly undoes Brian then and there, though he manages to hold on.

“Nearly there, darling,” Brian warns, voice breathy from the effort of holding himself back. “My god, but you're so bloody gorgeous,” he groans, meaning it with every bit of him. Roger is a vision, no less so now than he ever was, and the sight of him is going to get Brian off as surely as the feeling of his mouth.

Roger bobs his head just a tad faster, pulling Brian closer to the precipice with an easy skill developed through decades of practice, and it would take a much stronger man than Brian has ever been to fight the orgasm that overtakes him. Roger swallows expertly, not a drop lost, and Brian feels simultaneously like a glowing live wire and an empty shell by the time his cock is slipped out of Roger's mouth to lie sated against his thigh.

Brian tips his head back tiredly against the back of the couch, breathing deeply as he stares up at the ceiling before gathering enough brain and willpower to sit up and tuck himself away after a moment of silence. As Brian sets himself back to rights, Roger uses Brian's knees as grips to push himself up to his feet, wincing slightly as he stands up straight and reaches for his discarded underwear on the floor to pull them on, not bothering with the rest of his clothes. Brian's brow furrows at the fleeting look of discomfort on Roger's face and opens his mouth to ask if he's alright, but Roger cuts him off before the question can be formed.

“Brian, I swear, if you ask me about my knees, I will not hesitate to kill you and collect all the insurance money,” Roger says warningly, and it really shouldn't be possible for someone to look so stern in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, but somehow Roger makes it work. Brian holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, conceding to his husband's wishes despite his concern.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he lies, and Roger rolls his eyes but still holds out a hand to help Brian up from the couch. Brian takes the offering and lets Roger help him hoist himself to his feet, their fingers lacing together and Brian's other arm settling around Roger's waist to pull him close once Brian's stood up. Brian places a kiss on Roger's temple, on his forehead, his nose, and one on each cheek before finally leaving one on his lips, and when they part, Roger is smiling so beautifully that Brian very nearly wants to ruin the moment to take a photo.

“Feeling better, love?” Brian asks, not wanting to put Roger's mind back on his earlier insecurities but needing to know that Roger won't be dwelling on them any longer. Thankfully, Roger nods, smile softening but never leaving his face as he answers.

“I am, yeah,” he replies, and relief runs through Brian at the assurance. “I won't lie, I'm still a little jealous of Ben getting to run around in that costume today,” Roger continues. “But I'm not feeling down on myself anymore. In fact, you've made me feel rather sexy today, Dr. May. Thank you for that.”

Brian grins at the teasing use of his title, just happy to hear Roger speaking so confidently. Whatever reply he might have given is interrupted by an unexpected and rather large yawn, which leaves Roger giggling in his arms and mocking Brian lovingly for the action.

“Looks like I've tired the old man out,” Roger laughs, Brian only using their linked hands to lead them both towards the stairs up to their bedroom in response. He shoves Roger none-too-gently onto his own side of the bed, Roger still laughing a little as he settles in and makes himself comfortable, and Brian feels Roger's gaze on him as he finally strips out of his own clothes and down to nothing but his underwear before climbing into bed himself.

Roger snuggles in against him immediately, their bodies slotting together as easy as breathing after a lifetime of sharing space like this, and Brian feels the haze of sleep drifting over him almost instantly. Beside him, Roger's breathing is already deep and even, and his voice rumbles out of his chest with a drowsiness that confirms he's just as exhausted as Brian.

“Mm, bit early to go to bed for the night, even at our age,” Roger says, though he isn't making any move to change their position. Brian smooths a hand over Roger's back and closes his eyes against the pillow.

“Just a nap,” Brian replies, knowing his body's internal clock won't let him sleep for longer than about 45 minutes at this time of day anyway, though Roger could probably sleep the night through despite his protests. “I'll wake you up in a while and we can make dinner, how does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect, Bri,” Roger mumbles, already dropping off thanks to Brian's reassurance. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Rog,” Brian replies softly, content and satisfied that they both mean it forever.

Brian drifts off quickly, warm and happy with Roger in his arms. And if he dreams of 1984 and Roger all dolled up in his schoolgirl uniform, well. He'll just have to tell him about it when they've woken up.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me talking about Queen (and Brian primarily) at: somethingsoinviting.tumblr.com


End file.
